Licence to Thrill
by Deelightful76
Summary: Wyatt had always loved Bond - the books, the movies, the action, the adventure... He couldn't have been more excited when he discovered he, Rufus and Lucy were in one of his stories! And then he watched it. PeachCheetah deserves equal credit for not only providing a most thorough Beta but for the original idea too.


Wyatt braced one hand on the back of the couch and effortlessly vaulted over it. He landed with barely a thud next to Lucy and handed her one of the two un-spilled bottles of beer he carried in his other hand. "So, what are we watching?"

She smiled at him, her face a perfect picture of doe eyed innocence until a flash of mischief that did not escape his notice betrayed her efforts. He immediately knew what she was up to. And he wasn't about to let it happen.

"No Luce, no. No way. Uh uh, nope. Not happening. No. We are. Not. Watching. That. Film" he huffed.

She smiled again, this time making no attempt to hide the wicked smirk pulling along her cheeks, "But you _did _say it was my turn to choose the movie," she reminded him sweetly.

Wyatt huffed. "So what. I absolutely do not want to watch Weapon of Choice. That whole film is a load of bullshit."

"And yet," she said, hardly bothering to conceal the glee in her voice as she reached for the remote, "it's still up to me. I considered Pitch Perfect 3, because I know you love musicals, but I thought, on the whole, this would be much more fun."

Meeting his scowl with a chuckle of her own, she hit play on the film she'd already queued up.

As much as Wyatt had got a kick out of meeting Ian Fleming - and still enjoyed the books and movies - Weapon of Choice had left a taint on his enthusiasm for Mr Bond. He'd been beside himself when Mason had revealed that there was a Connery film based on their exploits in 1944 featuring CIA agents Lucy, Rufus and Wyatt. He had eagerly watched it as soon as he could, only to regret that decision immediately. It wasn't just that Bond slept with 'Lucy' - as Rufus had so correctly wagered - or that she practically threw herself at him, but to Wyatt's disgust she was portrayed as little more than a helpless bimbo instead of the smart, brave and brilliant woman he knew her to be. And worst of all, Flemming had called her Lucy Lipps. _Lucy Lipps for Christ's sake!?_ Jesus, could the man be more of a smarmy cliché? (Though he would admit the casting of Jacqueline Bisset with her soulful, wanton eyes, flowing dark hair, long legs, and, _ahem,_ plunging necklines, was a good choice).

Wyatt's 'character' had hardly come off any better. In the movie he was the reckless American hot-head trailing after Lucy like a love sick puppy (well OK maybe there was _something_ in that). But, he reasoned, it's not like he'd stood around doing nothing. He'd been there to help Lucy over the hump, and together with Rufus he'd put a stop to the rocket launch and saved Fleming's ass from the Nazis in Castle Varlar. In the 1963 Cold War-era film, however, 'Wyatt' was reduced to a incompetent halfwit first seen blustering into a bar in Minsk, posing as KGB and attempting to make contact in laughable Russian, before proceeding to hamper Bond at every turn until he was shot at the end of act 2, leaving 'Lucy' to take solace in Bond's bed.

Yeah, Wyatt was just dying to watch it again. He let out a sigh and rolled his eyes in defeat. It was a lost cause and he knew it.

Lucy took a sip of beer and settled back onto the couch, curling her legs up under her and leaning onto Wyatt's shoulder. She could feel his annoyance through his body as he sat there sulking, his mouth clenched in an adorable pout. She knew how much the film bugged him and how much it pained him to sit through it, but that only spurred her on. Sometimes, there was nothing more fun than getting a rise out of Wyatt Logan.

And she definitely planned on getting a rise out of him, she thought with a cheeky glint in her eye.

xxxx

"Oh come on! Seriously?" Wyatt spat out as he thumped his beer down on the table. "'_We're not going to be able to do this without your help, Agent Bond. We're walking blind here.' _That's what three highly trained CIA agents sent on a mission to Belarus to thwart a Russian missile threat are thinking? THAT's what he has me say? Why not go the whole hog and say, '_Help us Bond because we're too stupid to do it ourselves!?_' Arrrggghhh! Why are you making me watch this again?" he stared at her questioningly, disbelief and exasperation in his eyes.

Lucy paused the TV and snickered into her beer. It was the third such outburst in the last 20 minutes and she was enjoying it far too much. Although, she did have a minor concern he might pop a vein.

"Fleming's intel didn't even make sense until we got there, remember? _He_ needed _us. _None of us would have escaped Castle Varlar if you hadn't recognised that symbol used to mark the priest holes and secret passageways. That was all you, Lucy. How can you not get pissed at the way he's taken claim for everything and made us look like useless idiots!?"

She chuckled lightly, finding his anger in defence of her honour endearing. "Because, Sweetheart, it's not real, and we know the truth. It would hardly be a Bond story if the CIA agents were the ones to save the day instead of James being the hero. Besides, we did have a bit of an unfair advantage when it came to the intel. Fleming can hardly be blamed for not knowing the future. Now come on soldier, watch the rest of the movie with me," she soothed.

Feeling mildly placated – he could never resist those hazelnut eyes or her honeyed voice – Wyatt let out a hurrumph and shifted off the couch. "Fine, I'll watch it. But I'm gonna need another beer first."

He strolled into the kitchen, taking a moment to calm himself as he embraced the chill of the fridge. She was right. What was the point of getting all worked up over a stupid movie? It wasn't about them, not really, and of course Fleming had to make Bond the hero. It's meant to be about Bond! Lucy was right, they all knew the truth, including Fleming. They knew the role they'd each played and how, when it came down to it, they'd worked as a team to save the day and, as much as it had pained them, together had saved Von Braun and the future of the US space programme. (Or, in the case of 'Weapon of Choice', helped ensure Russia didn't win the Cold War). He shook his head and smiled to himself. _Get your head out of your ass Logan and enjoy being with Lucy._

Resolved to take the film at face value, he headed with beers in hand back to the sitting room and wrapped Lucy up in his arms as she pressed play.

His good humour lasted all of 15 minutes.

On screen 'Lucy' and Bond were in a well-appointed hotel room somewhere in Leningrad – 'Rufus' had stolen a Be-12 Chayka "Seagull" plane from a small airfield just outside Minsk and, after leaving the two of them there, he had gone on ahead to meet a CIA contact in Finland. Bond's suit was impossibly unrumpled for a man that had only recently been in fight with two burly henchmen (one of whom had manoeuvred Wyatt in such a way that in a final act of incompetence he'd somehow fatally shot himself in the chest, marking his departure from the rest of the story). Meanwhile, 'Lucy' was dressed in an outrageously low cut and crotch skimming dress that reminded Wyatt of the Fembots in Austin Powers.

She faced the window, disconsolately looking out into the distance. "Poor sweet Wyatt. What a way to go," she sighed. "But I suppose at least he died by his weapon of choice."

Bond fiddled with his wrist as he leered at her. "Why don't I show you _my_ Weapon of Choice, Miss Lippshhh," Connery's unmistakable burr drawing out her name. He smirked, spinning her round and pulling her firmly to him before smashing his mouth against hers and simultaneously dragging down the zipper of his dress using the now activated magnet of his watch.

Her grief over 'Wyatt' instantly forgotten, and Bond's predatory disregard for anything resembling consent apparently overlooked (well it was the sixties), 'Lucy' immediately relented to his advances. "Ohhh James…"

Wyatt let out a growl and balled his fist. The insinuation that Lucy, his Lucy, would ever put up with a sleazy letch like that, let alone sink into his arms made his blood boil. She'd fucking turned Fleming down, for god's sake. And now Wyatt was being forced to watch 'her' moaning and grasping at him like he was the most irresistible man on earth. His whole body clenched as anger coursed through him.

Lucy didn't miss a beat – she'd been waiting for this.

He was seething so much he didn't notice at first as her hand slid up his thigh. She pressed more firmly and moved her hand higher as she leant over and whispered teasingly into his ear.

"You're not jealous are you?" She nipped at his lobe, instantly igniting a spark of electricity down his neck.

"No," he lied, his body still stiff with silent fury as he watched Bond push 'Lucy' down onto the bed, his hair covered chest leaning into her (well Jacqueline's) barely clad curves.

"Oh but I think you are," she breathed, nuzzling into his neck as her hand snaked it's way under the hem of his t-shirt and brushed against his stomach. Toying with him, she trailed light, barely-there strokes across his muscles as her mouth planted soft lipped wet kisses over his throat. "I think you're picturing him putting his hands all over me. Sliding his fingers over my skin. Touching me…"

He flinched, stubbornly trying to ignore her touch and the heat creeping through him that was starting to gather in his crotch. He wanted to revel in his anger.

Lucy was undeterred, determined to wind him up until he pounced like a coiled spring. She scraped her teeth over his collar bone as her hands drifted down to his belt and unbuckled it, before fingering the buttons of his jeans and popping them open one by one. "Or, maybe you're imagining me scratching my nails down his back, twisting my hips into him and moaning his name…"

Wyatt growled again, his blinding jealousy now matched only by furious desire, his cock achingly hard. He roughly grabbed a handful of her hair and thrust her head up to face him. Their eyes locked, both burning with want. She bared her bottom teeth and jutted out her jaw, daring him as he kept his grip on her hair. "The only name you're going to be moaning is mine", he snarled as he gave a sharp tug that elicited a breathy gasp. Lucy's chest heaved. She was un-fuckin-believably turned on. She wanted this version of him – angry, possessive and rough. She wanted him to fuck her like he owned her.

She chuckled mockingly. "Is that so Agent Logan?"

"You better fucking believe it, Babydoll."

Without warning he grabbed her and flipped her over, pushing her onto her knees and bending her chest over the back of the couch. He gripped the waist of the pajama pants she wore and roughly yanked them down. Standing behind her, he tugged down his own jeans just enough and took himself in hand. His other hand reached between her legs and slid across the scrap of lace that remained. He groaned as he felt the heat and dampness of the fabric. Not bothering to remove her panties, he shoved them aside and plunged two thick calloused fingers inside her.

Lucy shuddered. She dug her nails into the leather as her back arched and she pushed down onto his hand, desperate for more. Desperate for him. She was soaking wet and he could already feel a trickle of her on his palm, making his cock twitch. He had to have her now.

He withdrew his fingers and with both hands pushed her thighs apart spreading her wide. The waistband of her pajamas tightened around her knees locking her in place. He moved his hand to her hip, gripping firmly as he lined himself up with her slick folds. Lucy held her breath with eager anticipation.

When he thrust into her it was hard and deep, sinking fully into her. The wanton sound she made in response was pure filth. He barely gave her a second to adjust before he withdrew and fucked into her again, using both hands on her hips to push in even deeper. She was hot and tight and oh so wet around him. He wasn't going to last long.

He tugged again at her hips, shifting the angle slightly to tilt himself against the sensitive spot inside her, and began to thrust again, setting a hard, fast pace.

Lucy's chest heaved as she was rocked back and forth into the couch, her arms barely able to steady herself. She began to whimper as the force of him pulsing in and out stretched her and she felt the delicious friction of his length rubbing inside her. Familiar hot tingles began to creep across her body and whimpers gave way to breathy moans as he continued his relentless rhythm. _This_ was what she had wanted.

"Say my name", he ordered.

Lucy's breath hitched, her voice lost in her throat and her brain tangled as her thighs began to tremble violently.

"Say my fucking name", he ordered again reaching up and pulling firmly on her hair.

"Wy-Wyatt", she managed to gasp out. "Wyatt. Oh God, fuck, Wyatt. Fuck, fuck Wyatt!" she screamed as her muscles clenched and spasmed around him, a tidal wave of hot pleasure crashing through her as he jerked erratically into her boneless body and filled her.

They collapsed onto the couch, their bodies a heaving jumble of sticky, sweaty limbs and salty skin.

Without moving from her Wyatt reached across the cushion and with the press of a button on the remote the TV silenced. Fuck Ian Fleming and his bullshit version of Lucy. The real Lucy was a powerhouse; strong, brilliant, funny, devastatingly sexy, and his. His. Wow, that thought blew his mind. How the hell he'd ever gotten so lucky he'd never know but, nonetheless, it was true. He somehow held the heart of Lucy Preston - the woman who turned down James Bond.


End file.
